


Murder On The Rockport Express

by alatarmaia4



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, feat. Beach Fashion Lucretia by the will of the tfw server, it's time for another train mystery hell yeah!, some characters who shall not be named because this is a mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2020-09-01 13:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20258695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alatarmaia4/pseuds/alatarmaia4
Summary: Angus McDonald took leave from his detective career to go to school in the south, far away from the ghosts of old cases, but an urgent development in Neverwinter has summoned him back to finish what he started. However, on the train to Neverwinter, a fresh mystery arises.Angus has to root out a murderer from among his traveling companions, unraveling a net of lies that hides beneath it yet more intrigue. It may be that there's more than one murderer aboard the Rockport Limited - and more than one way to be innocent or guilty.(Spoilers for the ENTIRE plot of Murder on the Orient Express - if you haven't read that already, go do that, or keep this warning in mind)





	1. Back Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (baby voidfish voice) IT'S THE ADVENTURE ZONE! (do do doo do do do do do do do do do do do do DODO DOOOOO...)

On the eve of the end of winter term for most schools in Calimshan, a train pulled into a station in Murann. 

It was one of the Rockport specialty sleeper-car trains from the north, and gleamed with red paint and gold accents that were as bright as if they’d been painted only minutes ago. As with the arrival of most trains, a great deal of hubbub rose up around it once it had stopped. Employees of the Rockport company swarmed up to help passengers disembark, ready with luggage trolleys and a free hand. The people of Murann were right behind them, some ready to welcome relatives and some ready to sell other people’s relatives anything from chickens to counterfeit brand-name pocket-watches. 

There were many people getting off the train, hauling down steamer trunks and suitcases behind them, but one in particular drew attention from those who saw him through the steam leaking from the engine’s smokestack. He wore the red uniform of the train company, which was complemented by the browner shade of red of his skin. He had red hair as well, but it was dark enough that it was commonly mistaken for brown or black, and in any case it was half hidden behind the horns which started at his forehead and came to a sharp point behind his head. 

Hudson - for that was the tiefling’s name - ignored the attention he had garnered, and instead checked his watch. He was used to attention, and confident enough that he did not feel discomfited by it. 

His watch told him that it was noon. Hudson had almost five days before he had to be back; the train would leave then with its new load of passengers, returning to Neverwinter and stopping at a multitude of destinations along the way. But five days was an unprecedented luxury, and he intended to make the most of it.

* * *

The day after the train’s arrival, in a city to the south called Zazespur, classes at the Madrasa had let out for the day and indeed for the foreseeable future, as it was the end of the week and nobody was expected back until Candlenights had passed (and then some). The halls and garden courtyards were full of laughing students making plans for their vacations, promising to meet up and bragging about where their families were taking them.

The one exception to this, should anyone have looked closely enough to notice, was Angus McDonald.

He was not particularly  _ difficult _ to notice, even in the crowd. Though he did not immediately stand out in comparison to the other students, especially in his uniform kaftan, he was a good foot or so shorter than most of them. His glasses seemed slightly too large for his face, and his kaftan was slightly lumpy because of the multitude of pockets which he had added to his underlayers and then filled with anything he believed might come in handy that day. 

He was also moving against the flow of the crowd, with a great deal of difficulty.

Using his overlarge bag (also filled with potentially convenient items), Angus managed to shove past several upperclassmen and dodge the hands they reached out to laughingly pat his head. Darting down one hallway and taking a left, Angus trotted up the stairs and into the west tower of the Madrasa, where his room was on the third floor.

It was a pretty nice room as far as dorms went, and he had it to himself. There was one bed set into the wall, with shelves inset where a headboard and baseboard would be on a Neverwinter-style one. They were crammed full of books, and so was the shelf above his desk. The window had been left open, allowing the southern sunlight and warmth to stream in. Angus kicked the door shut behind him and pulled off his shoes, dropping his bag to the floor next to them.

Then he went to his trunk to change out of his uniform. He didn’t have a closet, but that was okay, since keeping everything neat and folded while also keeping track of what was where was good practice for managing his own life. 

Angus didn’t dislike the kaftan, but he was glad to put what he called his ‘street clothes’ back on. The Madrasa did not make uniforms with twelve-year-olds in mind, and he kept tripping over the hem at inopportune moments. Ms. Shauzia from the next block over, who he’d asked for help from in order to have his attempt at hemming fixed, had left him room to grow into it. 

By the time Angus joined the rest of the Madrasa’s students, flowing out of the school and into the city, the streets were crowded and hot. Zazespur was a dense city even on a regular day, when people in the Madrasa’s more affluent neighborhood were mostly inside learning and working. But almost everyone was off for the Candlenights holiday, and so they were all out and about. 

It took Angus twice as long to make it to his favorite restaurant, but he didn’t mind. He got to say hello to Ms. Shauzia along the way, and Aatish the baker’s son waved hello frantically and then threw a bread roll at his head. Angus accepted it in good spirit - Aatish was only three, after all - and ate the roll while he attempted to navigate the dusty streets. 

By the time the Hummingbird’s blue sign greeted him, Angus himself was pretty dusty. He stood in the arched entryway and attempted to clean himself off, while Deliwar watched in amusement from his usual spot at the counter.

“If you wore your kaftan you wouldn’t have so much trouble getting it off your clothes,” he said when Angus finally approached. “Those northern things! One would think you like to stand out.”

“Because of the dust, or the fashion?” Angus asked, going on tiptoe to rest his arms on the counter.

“Both.”

“But my only kaftan is my uniform, and I need to keep that clean.”

“Haven’t you bought another one?” Deliwar rolled his eyes. He was eighteen, and thought he knew better than everybody. “You’ve been here for months attending classes at the Madrasa, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but I don’t  _ need  _ another one, and I have to be careful with money just in case,” Angus replied. “Besides, if I go around in these clothes, people think I’m just some foreign kid and you’d be surprised what they say in front of me!”

“Oh? That reminds me, how’s your Caliim going?”

“It’s going okay,” Angus said. “Yesterday a man yelled at me in Caliim to get off the street and I understood him perfectly.”

Deliwar laughed. “Very good! And before you ask, your usual table is ready.”

“Thank you!” Angus walked inside the Hummingbird, and found that Deliwar had spoken truly. His corner table was unoccupied, with the usual little vase of drooping flowers placed at its center. He never understood why they put out flowers - the ones carved in the surface of the table were much more beautiful.

Angus was halfway through his meal (also his usual, though occasionally Deliwar convinced the cook to switch it up because he thought Angus needed to broaden his horizons) when a voice said, “Angus? Is that you?”

A familiar tiefling dropped into the seat opposite him. Angus beamed in pleased surprise.

“Mr. Hudson, sir! I didn’t know you were in Zazespur!” He’d met Hudson while traveling south to reach the school in the first place. “The tracks don’t go  _ this  _ far, do they?”

“Not yet,” Hudson said, also smiling. “I came down from Murann. Angus McDonald! What a coincidence! I guess you’re still in school here.”

“Yes, it’s going  _ really  _ well.” Angus could have talked for hours about all he’d been learning since he came south, but he knew that would be impolite unless Hudson specifically asked. “What are you doing here, though?”

“I had enough time to make it here for a day or so,” Hudson said. “I thought I’d enjoy myself while I’m not moving.”

“That sounds nice. I know some places in the city-”

“Angus!” Deliwar had to raise his voice to be heard over the chatter of other customers. “Angus! Come here!”

“I guess I’m in demand tonight,” Angus told Hudson before slipping out of his seat. There was a stranger standing on the other side of Deliwar’s counter, who sized Angus up with the usual incredulity as he strode over.

“You are Angus McDonald?” The stranger asked. She was dressed like she was trying too hard to fit in with the usual Zazespur crowd.

“That’s me,” Angus replied. The woman hesitated, then took an envelope out from an inside pocket.

“I’ve been asked to deliver this to you, but I have to make sure you’re really Angus McDonald first.”

“Oh, well - will this do for ID?” Angus held out his makeshift pendant. The bracelet he’d been given for his aid to the Bureau of Benevolence was too big for him, and they were notoriously impossible to take off once fastened around one’s wrist, so he’d tied the thing onto a string instead. The angular double-B design flashed in the light.

The woman nodded, and handed over the envelope. The incredulity in her expression had intensified, but had gained a helping of respect. 

“Do I need to pay you-?”

“No need,” said the woman, “I’m only a courier. The sender paid in advance.” And she turned and strode away.

“That was strange,” Angus told Deliwar, who nodded in solemn agreement.

“What was that all about?” Hudson asked when Angus returned to the table.

“Someone had a message for me. It’s important enough to have paid a courier, apparently.” Angus carefully ripped open the top of the envelope, wishing he’d thought to put a letter-opener in his pockets that morning. Normally his pocketknife did the trick, but he didn’t like to take that out in front of adults in case they were the kind who thought young boys shouldn’t be carrying around knives. 

“Well?” Hudson asked as Angus read over the telegram which was inside. Angus didn’t reply, instead reading it over a second and then a third time as his heart sank. 

“They want me back in Neverwinter,” he said at length. “It says the case I was working on has gone on like I said it would, and now they want my help again.”

“Wasn’t that-?”

“Difficult, yes.” He’d decided to take a break from detective-ing after that case, and the Madrasa was a very good school. He thought he’d have time to give the classes it offered the attention they deserved. “There’s no way I can get to Neverwinter, solve this, and be back before Candlenights break is over.” 

“Hard luck,” Hudson sympathized. “Is it urgent?”

“I have to go,” Angus said regretfully. 

“Well, I can help a little. Come on the Rockport Express. People come  _ to _ Calimshan for the winter, they don’t leave it. There’s sure to be space for you.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Angus couldn’t muster the energy to sound particularly thankful. “When does it leave?”

“Not for a few days. I’m heading right back, but you could take a ferry to Murann tomorrow and be right on time.”

“I guess I will,” Angus sighed. “I should go, I’ll need to talk to my professors. Good evening, Hudson; it really was nice to see you.”

* * *

Angus’s professors were more understanding than he’d expected, but the situation was still awkward. Angus promised to do his best to return as originally planned, but all those involved knew it was unlikely considering the implied stakes of the case (they didn’t say anything, but Angus could tell). Several asked if it was the same one he’d been hired onto by the Bureau of Benevolence, which Angus declined to answer. 

Everything was sorted out quickly enough for Angus to make his train, to his regret. Angus soon found himself being aided in hauling his luggage up onto the ferry which would take him to Murann.

“Thank you, sir,” Angus said for the third time, jamming his cap back onto his head. It had fallen off twice, once nearly into the water. 

“It’s not a problem,” the human man assured him. “What’s a kid like you doing traveling with all this?”

“I need it,” Angus said, put out. “I’m going to be away for a while and I’m going all the way up to Neverwinter.”

“Neverwinter, wow. That’s pretty far.”

“Don’t patronize me, sir.”

The man blinked, and then laughed. The bell on the ferry rang, and Angus hastily leaped aboard next to his trunk. 

The ferry ride itself was pleasant. Angus got to look out over the water and see the foaming wake spread out behind them as the roofs and minarets of Zazespur shrank away. A haze of yellowish green marked the coastline as they journeyed along it. Angus only stopped watching when the spray of water up into his face got irritating rather than refreshing. 

There were several other passengers onboard, most of them the crew of the little ferry. The man who had helped Angus stayed below deck most of the time, reading. There was an elvish woman who wandered the deck the same as Angus, occasionally giving him a curious glance. When he sat down further from the railing of the ship, she came and sat next to him.

“I can’t figure out if you’re older than you look or incredibly confident,” she said, without preamble.

“I’m one hundred percent human,” Angus replied, aware that if she was elvish she was probably used to kids who looked twelve and were really somewhere around fifty. 

“So the latter, then.”

“I like to think so.”

The lady cracked a smile. “I gotta ask - why are you dressed like a tiny professor?”

“These are just my clothes,” Angus protested. “And I don’t look anything like my professors, just so you know.”

_ “Your  _ professors? Are you in school?”

“I was at the Madrasa until the other day.”

“Isn’t the Madrasa a university?”

“So what if it is? I’m very smart for my age.”

The woman was regarding him with interest, now. “Super duper smart if you’re studying at the Madrasa. Why head to Murann?”

“Why are you?”

“I got a train to catch,” the woman said lightly. 

“So do I,” Angus said. “I’ve been summoned back up to Neverwinter.”

“Summoned,” the woman laughed. “You sound so imperious. What’s your name, kid?”

“I’m just Angus.” Angus offered his hand. The woman shook it, with a firm grip and a surprising amount of body heat for a day that was not especially warm - by Calimshan standards, at least.

“Well, Just Angus, I’m Lup.” 

“Nice to meet you, Lup,” Angus said politely. “Were you in Zazespur on vacation?”

“Yes, for the first time in  _ years.  _ Sometimes you just need to take a break from the stress of regular life.” 

“Yeah,” Angus agreed quietly. “Sometimes you do.”

Lup shot him a curious look, but Angus had looked back out over the water. There was no sign of Zazespur on the horizon any longer, except for a faint yellowish splodge that might have been a tallish cliff and might have been the city’s famous Tower Square minaret. Angus couldn’t tell; he might as well not have had his glasses on at all. 

Angus realized with a start that he was really going to miss the Madrasa. 

“Excuse me,” he said, and brushed past Lup to remove himself to the other side of the ship, where he could dispose of his emotions in peace. Evidently subtlety had escaped him, with the suddenness of his realization, because after about a minute Lup came to offer him a bright orange handkerchief.

“Sorry about the color, my brother gave this to me as part of a joke,” she said, as Angus took his glasses off to wipe at his eyes. “I promise this one doesn’t have itching powder on it, though, I’ve washed them all about eight million times. You okay, kid?”

“I’m alright,” Angus said, trying to convince his brain that the sudden itchiness in his eyes was only because Lup had mentioned itching powder, not because there  _ was  _ any. “I’m just sad to be leaving.” 

“It’s not every day a twelve year old gets into university, huh?”

“I’m thirteen,” Angus said stiffly. 

“Oh, so it’s a slightly less impressive feat, got it.”

Angus couldn’t help but laugh a little. Lup smiled in triumph. “I think thirteen is still younger than they usually get from their applicants,” he said. “It wasn’t hard to get in, though, once I convinced them I was serious. People think that because it’s such an old institution, it’s very stuffy and proper, but it’s not like that at all.” As he rambled on about the Madrasa’s history and Zazespur, Lup steered him towards one of the small benches near the ferry’s railing, injecting “Mmm”s and “I see”s whenever Angus paused for breath.

Angus was explaining the political turmoil that surrounded the founding of Zazespur when he caught sight of a landlike smudge against the horizon, in the direction they were sailing. “Is that Murann?” He cried out. “You let me talk this whole time!”

“I don’t mind,” Lup said. “I’m a good listener. Used to be a teacher, in fact.”

“Oh! But I’ve just been rambling on about school, I’m sure you’re tired of that...”

“Nah, I haven’t taught in a while.” Lup’s smile faded slightly. “And I used to teach magic, anyway, none of that public school stuff. The system in Neverwinter is a  _ sight  _ to behold, I tell you, I keep having to take vacations so I don’t murder the mayor or burn down one of his new fuckin’ charter schools. But I won’t bore you with teacher politics.”

Angus thought teacher politics sounded quite interesting, actually, and he said as much. Lup laughed, and excused herself. Angus let her go without protest - she’d been sitting with him for long enough. And he found he did feel better about leaving Zazespur. He also found, looking down, that Lup had neglected to take her orange hanky back. 

Angus got up, intending to return it, but Lup had strayed down to the rear of the ship, and as he approached he heard voices raised in conversation. Angus paused, but neither Lup nor her new conversational partner - the human man from before - noticed him. 

“Not  _ now,  _ Barry.” Lup sounded frustrated.

“I just wanted to-”

“I said not now.” Lup huffed out a breath. “When this is all over,” she said, quieter, “you can worry about me to your heart’s content. But only when it’s over.”

Barry sighed, and nodded. “Alright.” He lingered, laying the lightest touch of his hand on Lup’s arm. She didn’t shake him away, but Angus saw her twitch like she was keeping herself from leaning into it. 

After a moment, Barry turned away, thankfully in a direction which prevented him from spotting Angus. Angus waited one and a half seconds, then coughed politely. Lup startled, and spun around.

“You forgot this,” Angus said, offering up the handkerchief. Lup, still caught off guard, mustered a smile.

“Keep it, kid. Like I said, I got plenty.” 

* * *

Angus navigated his way into Murann once they docked, his steamer trunk weighing him down more and more with each step. He had sent ahead a telegram to secure space at a hotel for the night, since his train left tomorrow, but he hadn’t known it was so far away from where the ferry moored.

With some luck, and helpful directions from shopkeepers and street-sweepers, Angus eventually arrived on the steps of the Golden Key. He was dusty and sweaty and got sideways looks from the bellhops, but when he displayed the double-B bracelet to confirm his identity, he was immediately caught up in a storm of obsequious attention. In a flash he was installed in a comfortable second-floor room, with his steamer trunk carried up the stairs for him and deposited gently at the end of the bed.

There were a lot of things Angus would have liked to have done, most of them involving the very fluffy comforter and pillows on the bed, but his growling stomach demanded attention first. He rushed through a perfunctory washing-up and pattered down the broad flight of stairs. The hotel, lucky for him, had a restaurant on the first floor.

It was late in the day, and the restaurant was bustling. A white-jacketed waiter made Angus wait for nearly fifteen minutes, then whisked him off to a side table, where Angus waited a while longer for someone to come ask him what he wanted to eat. He didn’t mind it so much, besides being hungry; a crowded restaurant meant lots of people to watch.

An elvish couple who he guessed were upper-class folk fleeing south for the winter were drinking wine nearby. Beyond them, some soberly-dressed politicians looked like they were developing a collective headache, as a family with young children behind them (likely taking advantage of the fact that the restaurant was inside the hotel) tried to wrangle their children into staying in their seats. 

The politicians weren’t the only ones getting upset. Near Angus, in a strategic corner table with a view of the door, two human men were dining. The older human sent dirty looks towards the family every time one of the children got a little too loud, or something fell to the floor with a loud noise. Luckily the children appeared to have been given plastic cups. The younger man didn’t seem bothered, and kept attempting to draw the first’s attention back to the papers they were going over.

“My apologies for the wait, Mr. McDonald,” said the waiter who hurried over and broke Angus out of his thoughts. In a sudden lull of silence, his name spoken aloud seemed extraordinarily loud indeed. The man at the corner table looked over sharply; even his assistant looked up from the papers.

“It’s not a problem,” Angus said. His stomach chose that moment to growl, particularly loudly. The waiter stifled a smile. “I’ll save you some time - I think I already know what I want...”

The waiter took his order and promised to have it out as quickly as possible. Angus settled back into his seat, and wished he’d thought to bring a book down with him. But better to save his books for the long train ride ahead. Neverwinter was far to the north from Murann, and it would be several days at least before he arrived, a week perhaps. He couldn’t remember precisely how long the ride south had been, given that he’d been tied up for one or two days at a town they’d stopped over in, resolving the puzzle of the ticket-taker’s missing watch. 

Again, Angus was jolted out of his thoughts by another’s approach. It was not the waiter, but the older man from the corner table.

“He called you McDonald,” the man said. “McDonald, like the detective?”

“That’s right,” Angus said, unsurprised. The man took a seat in the empty chair across from Angus. Up close, Angus could take him in better. He was dressed nicely, a little too nicely for a casual hotel restaurant, and had a hassled look on his face, like a man with a lot on his mind and very little time or patience for any of it. “I’d like to ask your name, if you don’t mind?”

“J. Bryant. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

_ Okay, and what’s your name that isn’t horseshit?  _ Angus bit back the reply that leaped to his lips. If a random human wanted to go by a fake name, he could be curious about it, but he already had one big case in his lap. Maybe “J. Bryant” had a good reason for it.

“Well, Mr. Bryant, dinner is an odd time to try and make friends with somebody,” Angus said instead. “I think I could go ahead and guess that you have a reason for coming over to my table.”

Bryant glanced around, as if making sure nobody was listening. “I have some business I’d like to discuss with the detective,” he said. “I know you’re not here alone. If you could pass along the message for me, I’m in room 4B.”

Angus sighed internally. It had gotten old fast, people assuming that the real detective McDonald was his father or brother or cousin. “I am here alone, actually,” he said, “and I don’t just mean at dinner. There isn’t any detective McDonald except me!”

Bryant stared at him, then scoffed. “You must be joking.”

“I’m not,” Angus said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take my word for it. I’m not in the mood to go proving my identity to just any Tom, Dick, and Harry! And I think I can see my food coming, so unless your business really is urgent, we’ll have to talk later, Mr. Bryant.”

Bryant stared at him in astonishment a moment longer, then with a huff got up and stomped back over to his own table. 

Angus forgot him promptly. He had guessed right, and the waiter had been heading towards his table. When one puts a full plate of food in front of a hungry young boy, there’s no space in his head for any thoughts except the ones reminding him to use a fork and knife instead of his hands.

* * *

The train station in Murann was a beautiful building, repurposed from an old temple. The temple had moved to the crest of a hill, into a glimmering domed structure with minarets and stained glass; the train station had neither, but the ceilings were set with dazzling geometric mosaics that Angus craned his head back to look up at.

After the third time he tripped over a loose tile or somebody’s luggage, he lowered his gaze, and only looked up when he could take refuge from the stream of moving people behind a pillar or stall.

The requisite crowd of salespeople with penny-dreadful travel books, snacks, spare toothbrushes, and sundry were crowding the station alongside the sparse mess of winter travelers. There were also small cafés for those with no time to venture out into the city itself, larger restaurants for passengers too important for cafés, and a great deal of small market stalls for those who considered themselves too good to rush around after people, selling things out of a basket. 

Steam was already leaking from the Rockport Express’s engine. Angus worried he might be cutting it a little late. But still he lingered to people-watch, because the large clock on the station’s roof told him that it was only nine-fifteen, and the Rockport Express didn’t leave until nine-forty-five. 

And the Express itself was something to behold. The gleaming red cars had ‘Sword Coast Limited’ stenciled onto each one just under the roof, and the windows shone, concealing vague movement within. The occasional flash of red revealed the movement of the conductors in their smart uniforms, but other than that Angus could only assume passengers were already onboard.

“Rockport Express leaving at nine-forty-five!” Called a conductor walking by, raising their voice above the ambient chatter. “Leaving Murann for Athkatla, Candlekeep, Baldur’s Gate, Rockport, Waterdeep, and Neverwinter!” They rattled off the various destinations of the train with impressive speed. 

“Angus!” Speaking of conductors. Hudson appeared out of the steam, which was wafting with true purpose and filling the station to the roof, at least around the engine. “I’m glad you made it! I was beginning to worry.”

“It took longer to get here than I expected,” Angus offered as an apology, kicking his steamer trunk meaningfully.

“We can take care of that, no worries.” Hudson beckoned one of the Rockport employees and offloaded Angus’ trunk on them, sending them down towards the luggage car. “We’re carrying several cars for along-the-way destinations, like Candlekeep and Rockport itself, but you’ll want the Neverwinter car, at the front. I’m sure we’ll be able to find you a spot. Sloane!” He had spotted another one of the conductors, who was surveying the outside of the train and very visible in the red and brass uniform. “Get Mr. McDonald here a first-class cabin in the Neverwinter car.”

“But Neverwinter’s full, sir.” 

“Full?” Hudson repeated in astonishment. “What about second-class?”

“It’s booked full, sir.” Sloane, a dark-haired half elf, shrugged, as if to say  _ What can you do? _

“In the dead of winter? Do these people think Neverwinter’s name is literal?” Hudson shook his head. “Let me think - has everyone checked in?”

“I think almost everybody, sir."  


“Almost? Who hasn’t?”

“One second-class passenger hasn’t shown up yet - a Mr. Kessler.”

“All passengers are required to check in half an hour beforehand! If Mr. Kessler can't be bothered to do even that, he'll have to live with the consequences. Mr. McDonald can take his berth.”

A flicker of unhappiness passed over Sloane’s face, but she nodded. “You’ll be in number seven, then,” she told Angus. “I hope you don’t mind a roommate.”

“I’ve traveled with strangers before, but thank you,” Angus said brightly. “And thanks for offering me first class, Hudson, but I’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” Hudson said. “Go on, then, I have to make sure everything’s running smoothly. It’s a long journey ahead of us, and I’d hate to run out of food or coal halfway through because of some last-minute error.” He waved goodbye and walked briskly off. Sloane pointed Angus towards the right car before continuing on her patrol.

Angus boarded the very first car, and found himself in the restaurant car, where uniformed Rockport waiters and cooks were already busy. A delicious smell was wafting into the air, and crisp white tablecloths were being set into position, chairs lined up and lamps carefully lit.

Squeezing around the workers and mumbling apologies, Angus hurriedly crossed into the next car, which was a much more familiar arrangement of a narrow hallway outside cramped cabins. There was a bathroom at the end Angus had entered from, but only two doors down was cabin “6-7”. Each bunk was numbered, rather than assigning two passengers the same room number. 

Angus reached for the door handle, hesitated, and knocked instead. As usual, he had good instincts. There was a shuffle from inside, and then the door opened - revealing Bryant’s assistant from the night before!

There was a mutual moment of astonished blinking, and then Bryant’s assistant said, “Can I help you?”

“Oh - I’m traveling with you, apparently,” Angus said. “This is the only cabin with a free berth.”

“Oh! Well.” Bryant’s assistant dithered for a moment, then stood back to let Angus in. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting - it doesn’t matter. You’re Mr. McDonald, right?”

“Just Angus is fine.” Angus set down his suitcase and held out his hand.

“Avi Clay. But just Avi is fine.” Avi shook his hand. Up close, he made a far more favorable impression than his employer. He was handsome by anybody’s standards, on the young side for a human, and had his hair tied back in a neat ponytail. Though there were some stress lines around his eyes, they were outnumbered by the friendly beginnings of crow’s feet. 

“I have to ask - Mr. Bryant isn’t next door, is he?”

Avi laughed. “Oh, no. He’s old-fashioned in his thinking. The servants travel second class, and the masters in first.”

“Oh, good,” Angus said. “No offense.”

“No, none taken. I get okay pay being his assistant, but he’s...not the friendliest.” Avi had the tone of a man restraining himself from saying worse. “And he keeps a butler, of sorts. Who does that?”

Angus perked up. “Is the butler onboard, too?”

“She’s next door, with some researcher.”

“Researcher?”

Avi shrugged. “Something like that. I saw him lug onboard a whole messy briefcase, and a box of something marked ‘fragile’ and ‘dangerous’. Whatever it is, I just hope he doesn’t use it while the train is moving.”

Angus resolved to introduce himself to the people in bunks 4 and 5 as soon as possible. 

* * *

The train started out of the station at precisely nine-forty-five, with a lurch that sent Angus tumbling into the bottom bunk. The lurch settled into a steady rumble that, by the time the occupants of the Neverwinter cabin were alerted to the fact that lunch was being served, Angus had grown used to. 

Passengers were seated according to some incomprehensible system on the waiters’ part, on a train like the Rockport Limited; Angus expected to be doing a lot of people-watching. But to his surprise, he was installed in a seat across from an immensely familiar face.

“Madam Director!” Angus clamped his mouth shut, then continued in a near whisper, embarrassed at having been so loud in such a fancy space. “I thought you were in Neverwinter.”

“I could say the same to you,” said the Director. She was dressed impeccably, but not in her usual blue-and-white robes, and she lowered a pair of sunglasses to look at him directly. “I thought you were in school in Zazespur?”

“You don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?”

Angus explained, very briefly considering how many people could be eavesdropping, about the telegram he’d received.

“I think my associates may have taken my request not to be bothered a little too seriously,” the Director said when he had finished. She looked torn between amusement and consternation. “And here I was hoping that nothing had fallen apart in my absence.”

“If you didn’t know about the case and me being summoned back,” ventured Angus, who had assumed the telegram had been from the Director, “what are you doing here?”

“On this train, or in Calimshan? I was on vacation,” the Director said. “Evidently I had a stockpile of unused off-days that were about to expire. Brad advised me to use them - you remember Brad.”

Angus nodded. “So you just happened to be on the same train as me when your vacation ended?”

“I assure you, Angus,” the Director said, “I’m as surprised as you are.” 

“Well, how was your vacation, then?”

The Director smiled. “Quite fun. Did you know in Ioma, they give tours of the local ruins?”

“I didn’t! Tell me all about it.”

In the brief pauses between words, while he talked with the Director, Angus glanced around to take in the other passengers. Avi was seated across from Bryant again, just nearby. A halfling woman, freckled and sturdily built, was at the table just behind him. Across from her was a gnomish man with a well-groomed mustache - what a faux pas, sitting two people together just because they both belonged to shorter races. But maybe Angus shouldn’t have been too quick to judge, because behind the Director was a table with a greying dwarf seated opposite a human.

Angus blinked, and looked again. The human was remarkably familiar - in fact it was Barry, the same human who had helped him on the ferry! And there, just behind his table, was Lup, seated across from a strikingly identical elf dressed absolutely nothing like her. Angus blinked again, this time to clear the spots out of his eyes from the sparkle of jeweled rings and ear piercings.

“Is something wrong?” The Director glanced over her shoulder, following his gaze for a brief moment. “Ah, yes. Rather a star is traveling with us today.”

“A star?” Angus blinked owlishly. 

“The elvish wizard? He runs quite a famous cooking show.”

“Oh.” Angus hadn’t recognized him at all, but he was wearing an astonishingly stereotypical wizard’s hat. “No, I was looking at the lady. I ran into her on the ferry over.”

The Director looked surprised. “Really? What a coincidence.”

“Hm.” There were beginning to be an awful lot of those, stacking up on one simple journey. Angus’ eyes strayed over the rest of the restaurant car, looking for other familiar faces. The half elf at the table behind him he vaguely recognized as an assistant of the Director’s, but the only other two people at dinner were a human couple that he’d never seen before in his life. 

Angus’s gaze paused on the humans. They were both very well-dressed, but were not built like nobility who spent their whole lives sitting down. The woman had her hair tied back, not done up; she looked like a bodyguard poorly disguised as a girlfriend, or perhaps a wife (Angus couldn’t see her left hand to make out if there was a ring). The man was clean shaven and brooding down at his plate, brow furrowed.

“I assume you still don’t know who you’re staring at,” the Director said, gently bringing Angus’ attention back to her. “Besides it being impolite, I think this is one man who would not appreciate staring.”

“Why,” Angus asked, “who is he?”

“None other,” the Director said, “than the governor of Raven’s Roost.”


	2. The Game Becomes Afoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas yall, blessed yule, happy hanukkah, etc etc

Angus lay in bed that night for a long while, wondering why ‘governor of Raven’s Roost’ sounded so familiar to him. 

Avi snored, so it was difficult to fall asleep anyway. Angus wished he’d thought to pack earplugs. Light came in chunks through the window that passed over Angus steadily; the train must have been passing through a forest. 

Raven’s Roost. Why was  _ that  _ familiar? Angus didn’t remember any history that talked about Raven’s Roost, none that he’d come across anyway. Probably he’d heard or read the name in passing and the imagery stuck with him. But he was certain that the governor had been related to whatever he’d heard or read, and that made him curious. Was there a corruption charge, maybe? Had there been a murder? 

Maybe it had been embezzlement. No, that was too common. A mistress? A public scandal? 

The train rumbled steadily over the tracks, almost but not quite to the beat of Avi’s snoring. Angus felt his eyes sliding shut. Perhaps he could look through some of his old notes in the morning...

* * *

In the morning they stopped at Athkatla, and then at Candlekeep in the evening, shedding passengers as they went. Angus looked through his old journals ( _ definitely  _ not diaries) all day. The ones he had on him went as far back as two years ago, because he had very small handwriting, but he found no mention of Rockport. 

Going through the journals took him all day. Angus roused himself from his bunk once he had put them away, realized irritably that he’d missed lunch  _ and  _ dinner, and went to see if the restaurant car would still serve him.

Evidently a thirteen-year-old with a rumbling stomach painted a pitiable enough picture, because one of the waiters escorted him to a table. Angus managed to have quite a nice late dinner, with picturesque hills rolling by outside the train. It was only during desert that he was interrupted.

“Mr. McDonald.” Bryant sat down without an invitation. Angus swallowed a mouthful of cake.

“Good evening,” he said once he could speak clearly. “I guess Avi must have told you I was on the train as well.”

Bryant’s forehead wrinkled. Clearly Avi hadn’t told him anything of the sort. “It’s a public space,” he said gruffly. “I saw you yesterday. Why were you hiding in your room today?”

“I was working,” Angus said, and told himself that it wasn’t entirely a lie, technically. He took another mouthful of cake, and waited for Bryant to explain what he wanted. 

It took about three seconds for Bryant’s patience to unwind. “McDonald,” he said, “if, that is, you actually are the detective McDonald - I want to hire you.”

“Hire me?” For what? The train had only left the station two days ago. 

“Certain parties are interested in seeing me harmed.” Bryant lowered his voice as though imparting a great secret. Angus had been ready to dismiss the man, but he paused at Bryant’s admission. “I’ve been receiving threatening letters for months. It’s becoming unbearable.”

“Months,” Angus said thoughtfully. Not a problem that could be solved on the train, then. “What do you want me to do about that?”

“You’re a detective! Figure out who’s sending them, and have them arrested!”

“You think this person is on the train?” Angus actually put his fork down in astonishment. He didn’t particularly care if Bryant had something nagging at him, but who among the passengers might be doing it? That was an interesting question by itself. “Can I see one-”

“I’ve burned them all,” Bryant snapped, too quickly. Angus was too irritated at the loss of a lead on the curious puzzle presented to ask himself the questions that, in hindsight, he should have.

“Then I doubt I can help you, Mr. Bryant,” Angus said, and picked his fork back up. “I’m not a bodyguard.”

Bryant bristled, and for a moment Angus worried that Bryant was going to threaten  _ him  _ with violence. But the older man only shoved himself away from the table so vehemently that Angus’ water glass toppled over. As Angus hurried to rescue his cake from the miniature flood, Bryant left the restaurant car, slamming the door behind him. 

Angus tried to continue eating, but wet cake was no fun, and the whole episode had shaken him. Knowing for certain that somebody on the train bore malicious intent put a damper on the whole experience of traveling by sleeper car. And Bryant was a jerk. 

The door at the end of the car opened a crack, and a vaguely familiar halfling peeked through. She had been at dinner the night before. Angus spared her a glance, and went back to picking at the remains of the ruined cake. 

He paid her a little more attention when she approached his table. “You alright?” The halfling asked. “I saw Bryant storm out of here like a bat out of hell - or back into, really.”

Angus managed a smile at that. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’ve seen scarier things than Bryant.”

“I find that a little hard to believe, no offense.” The halfling glanced back towards the door. “That guy - ugh. Some days it’s just not worth it.”

The thought occurred to Angus that perhaps it was the halfling, who posed a threat to Bryant’s life. But he dismissed it. There was a far more reasonable explanation. “You’re the butler, then? The one Avi mentioned?”

“Sure, and I don’t mind that he’s talked about me, since he mentioned you to me too.” The halfling extended her hand. “Hurley’s the name, at least the only one anybody calls me.”

“I guess Avi told you my name.”

“He said you were the kid at the restaurant, so yeah, I recall.” 

“I didn’t know people still kept butlers.”

Hurley looked wry. “Bryant likes having people that are obligated to call him ‘sir’. I take care of his clothes and all that, while Avi speaks all the languages Bryant doesn’t and takes care of his money.”

“Oh! How many languages does Avi speak?” Angus asked eagerly, curious.

“Four. But it’s Common only around Bryant, so I can’t even enjoy the partnership of somebody who speaks Halfling without  _ being  _ a Halfling.”

Angus almost asked if she could teach him any, but he shut his mouth. That was a little presumptuous, and besides, knowing a language didn’t mean someone was qualified to teach it to another. Angus knew Elvish grammar inside and out, but his grasp of Common grammar was somewhat lacking due to his overfamiliarity with it. And his grandfather always moaned at the state of his Hebrew. Instead, another thought had Angus perking up a little. 

“I have to ask,” he began. “Is there really a researcher in your cabin, with a briefcase that says ‘danger’?”

“Says ‘fragile’,” Hurley told him, to Angus’ delight. “I think he keeps beakers and stuff in there - glassware, you know.”

“Does he do experiments in your cabin?”

“He  _ better  _ not.” 

Angus wondered which of the passengers he’d seen was the researcher - the distinguished gnome? The old dwarf? The glamorous chef? It seemed too obvious to ask outright. Habits developed mid-investigation died hard. 

“Maybe I should go check that he isn’t,” Hurley mused, before Angus could decide on a plan of action. “I’ll see you around, kid. Hopefully with less of my boss around.” She winked at him as she turned to head back into the cabin car. 

His mood somewhat repaired, Angus remained in the dining car for a while longer. The windows were larger than the one in his compartment, and he liked to watch the landscape rush by. But it didn’t seem that much time passed at all before the door to the car opened again, and Hudson came through, making a beeline for Angus.

“Success!” He told Angus triumphantly. “A first-class cabin has opened up in one of the other carriages and I’m set to occupy it. If you come with me, I can have you settled in my old bunk in cabin no. 1 straight away.”

“Oh - that’s really not necessary!” Angus protested.

“Nonsense. Boys need room to run around and fidget without having to deal with bunkmates.” Hudson waved away Angus’ other protests. “I promised you first-class, and I intend to deliver.”

Angus could hardly argue, especially since the first-class cabins  _ were  _ nicer. Avi helped Hudson and him shift his luggage over, even though Angus didn’t really have enough luggage to warrant it. Angus sat on the mattress with a sigh once they were both gone. It was good to be alone with his thoughts. 

He liked the look of Hurley, and was still deathly curious about the researcher. Perhaps it was the chef - skills learned in a kitchen could easily translate to the chemistry table, as far as Angus knew. He recalled he’d gotten a toy chemistry kit for a birthday, once, or maybe for Hanukkah. Either way, chemistry seemed reasonably similar to cooking. It was all basically chemical reactions under certain pressures. 

Letting his mind wander helped to keep his thoughts off Bryant. Angus let it go all over the place and invent all sorts of stories as night descended, while he brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas. 

Moonlight wavered across the cabin as Angus tucked himself into bed. The rattle of the train had become comforting and familiar, white noise that lulled him into drowsiness instead of jolting him out of it. His thoughts came back from wandering and put themselves back in his head so they could turn into fantastical dreams.

Angus blinked his eyes. It felt like no time at all had passed and at the same time, all the time in the world had gone by. His eyes were gritty with sleep, and he still felt tired. It was so dark that it must have been the middle of the night. 

A  _ thump  _ came from the other side of the wall. Angus rolled over, his tired brain instinctively trying to look for the source of the noise, but of course there was only the flat wall of the cabin. Angus would have turned back over, but shortly after the thump came an aborted cry.

Angus sat straight up. 

Footsteps were already coming up along the hall as Angus crept to his door. He opened the door a crack and saw Sloane, the attendant conductor for their carriage, knock briskly on the door of the cabin next to Angus’. “Sir?” Sloane asked, just loudly enough to be heard by anybody inside but not wake the other passengers.

_ “It’s nothing,”  _ said the voice from inside in Elvish, low and rough with sleep. Angus frowned. The only person aboard that he knew of with a voice that sounded like that was Bryant. He might have hesitated to take Hudson’s offer if he knew who had the no. 2 cabin.  _ “I tripped.” _

Sloane nodded, though the door was still closed, and walked away. Angus went back to bed.

He was wakened again, though, and the second time it was even harder to tell why. He was still tired, and it was still black like very early morning. Angus groaned and buried his head under the pillow.

It took him a long, sleep-suffused moment to realize that the train was not moving. Angus propped himself up, and listened. There was no rumble of movement, no metallic noise of wheels on rails or even the steady chugga-chugga that trains usually produced. It was cold too, cold even under the blankets that had been warmed by his body heat. Angus crept again to the door, and pulled the bell to summon the conductor.

Sloane looked tired, when she came to his door. “Yes?”

“Why are we stopped?” Angus asked.

“We’ve made it as far as the Felicity Wilds, and there’s been some trouble on the tracks. We can’t continue for now.”

“What-”

“It will be fixed,” Sloane assured him, “but we won’t be moving til morning at least. Go back to bed, and maybe we’ll be on our way by the time you wake up.”

Angus’s detective instincts wanted to ask more, but his little boy instincts wanted to finish resting. He smiled at Sloane as best as he could, and closed the door, and went back to bed.

_ Third time’s the charm,  _ as the saying went. Rapid knocking woke Angus a third time, when sunlight was streaming in through the window as grey and cold as moonlight. It was assuredly morning, because he could hear birds faintly under the knocking. Angus stumbled out of bed and to the door.

Hudson was on the other side, rather pinker than usual. Angus straightened. Pink on Hudson meant bloodlessness, not a blush. 

“Detective McDonald,” Hudson said, and Angus’ heart skipped a beat. “There’s been a murder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i have to write more mystery at (checks time) 11:30 on christmas eve its just gonna be bad, trust me


	3. The Investigation Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY READ THIS because I have some custom content warnings for this chapter, specifically. They are: 
> 
> Mentions of Child Death  
Mentions of Suicide. 
> 
> (the two are not related, they're for two different events which are retold at the very end of the chapter. They are briefly summarized and there is absolutely no graphic description).
> 
> There's a happy ending to this mystery, I swear.

It was early in the morning, though the sun was up, and cold. Angus crossed his arms across his chest in a halfhearted attempt to insulate himself against it as Hudson took him out into the hallway and then into the cabin next door.

A human man inside, who was decidedly not Bryant, raised his head as they entered. Hudson closed the door behind them.

“He’s definitely dead,” said the new man from behind his beard. Bryant was lying in bed. There were slashes in the blanket over his chest,  _ many  _ of them, with blood soaked through the cloth around them. Angus sucked in a breath. “Are you sure-?”

“This is Detective McDonald,” Hudson said firmly. The man gave Angus a wary, curious look.

“And you are...?” Angus leveled back at him.

“Graham,” said the bearded man. Wizard, maybe? He had the robes for it, despite the, ahem, decorative embroidery over certain parts. “I’m certified to pronounce people dead. On trains, at least.”

“Graham is...known to the Rockport Limited company,” Hudson said. “It doesn’t matter how, I’ll tell you when we don’t have...” He faltered, and then simply gestured at Bryant’s body. Angus nodded and stepped forward, gesturing Graham out of the way.

“What should I tell the other passengers?” Graham asked Hudson, looking less certain now that he had no specific task. Angus wondered what the others knew. How many were awake?

“If passengers ask for information, let the conductor tell them we’re stopped by whatever’s on the tracks,” Angus said, before Hudson could respond. The window in Bryant’s room was the source of the cold he’d felt; it had been left open, and outside there was a light dusting of snow and frost. Angus saw trees and thick, choking undergrowth. He walked over and looked out the window as he continued. “Don’t tell them what’s happened, and don’t let them near here. I need quiet to work. If people wake up and want answers and are determined about it, tell them to gather in the restaurant car and I’ll come speak to them once I’m done.”

Graham nodded, looking relieved to have directions, and left. Hudson stood aside to let him go, pressing himself awkwardly against the wall. 

“The murderer must have escaped out the window,” Hudson decided. Angus got off the tiptoes he’d needed to lean over the side table and see out the window, and closed it.

“Leaving no tracks in the fresh snow, and vanishing without a trace into that.” Angus pointed at the undergrowth. A child could not have failed to leave a mark on it to get through, certainly not an adult-sized person. “No, I don’t think so.” He looked down at what was on the side table. Most of it was what one would expect to see in the cabin of a man traveling. Some was not.

“But who could have done it?” Hudson groaned. “All the passengers are still here, in every cabin in every coach. We’ve checked!”

Angus took out a pencil from his pocket and used it to nudge the watch on the side table so that he could see its face. “You think because nobody is missing nobody is guilty?”

“I haven’t talked to the conductor yet, but nobody could have left their cabins last night without being missed. Or entered the car from another.”

“Hm.” Angus thought of the thump. Bryant had gotten up, perhaps tripped in the dark. Perhaps not. The watch was broken, frozen at a little past one. One in the morning? That lined up with when Angus had been woken by the disturbance, as far as Angus could tell. 

Angus pressed the pencil against the pocket-watch’s lid to expose its underside without touching it, and saw a heavy dent. Not the kind of damage a watch sustained without significant effort. 

Angus looked back at the other items on the side table. Besides the watch there was a small case of pipe cleaners in black and an actual pipe, though any tobacco was packed safely away. Some of it had been used to start a fire in the ashtray, and among the ashes were a sliver or two of charred paper.

Interesting.

A spark of Prestidigitation rose easily to Angus’ fingers. Hudson was silent as Angus watched the largest scrap of paper char a little more, the words scrawled across it glowing with one last burst of embers before blackening.

Angus took out his notebook, which he’d thought to shove into his pocket along with the pencil, and made a note.

The pipe cleaners had fallen over and partially spilled into the floor. Angus crouched down to look, and spotted something different. One of the pipe cleaners, fallen into the slight gap between the carpet and the side of the bed, was brown, not black. Someone else had come in and dropped it. By accident? It was an odd thing to come into a man’s room, murder him, and stop for a smoke. Was that why the window was cracked, to let the smell out? But Bryant had a pipe as well. Pipe-smoke wouldn’t have been a strange odor to encounter. 

Angus was getting more confused the more he found, but that was normal for this stage of the investigation.

“There’s also that.” Hudson pointed to a white splotch on the floor, just inside the minuscule bathroom. Angus obligingly went over. It wasn’t a splotch at all, but a handkerchief, carelessly dropped.  _ Extremely  _ carelessly. He wasn’t likely to get fingerprints from cloth, so Angus picked it up. It was a lady’s handkerchief, with lace around the edges and a pale blue ‘E’ embroidered onto it. 

A lady’s handkerchief, a man’s pipe cleaner (well, a man’s in most places and a lady’s in the same places), and a broken watch. Angus glanced back at the watch, tucking the handkerchief in his pocket. The dent could have come from many places, but he’d heard a noise like something heavy being thrown or smashed. If Bryant had broken it, perhaps he’d died at that moment. If he hadn’t, who did? His murderer? It seemed awfully convenient, like something from a penny dreadful and not a real crime. Murderers didn’t usually make sure to leave evidence of time of death, and Angus said so to Hudson.

“Oh.” Hudson looked nervous. “I thought...but of course you’re right, that’s too obvious.”

“Nothing’s obvious about this case.” Angus waited until he’d turned away from Hudson to swallow nervously. There was only one thing he hadn’t examined yet. 

Hudson made a choked-off exclamation as Angus approached the body. Bryant was lying in bed. He could have been asleep, given his pose, so he had likely been asleep when he was murdered. His eyes were closed, but Graham or Hudson might have done that. Angus asked.

“No, they were closed when we got here. If he was killed while he was asleep, he didn’t have time to wake up.”

There were twelve stab wounds in Bryant’s chest, all of different sizes. Angus could tell from the width of the wounds and the amount of blood that some were much deeper than others, though some which he would have expected to bleed more were surprisingly bloodless. Some of the wounds had been made after he died, then, when his body’s circulation had slowed or even stopped. Angus frowned. The killer evidently had a vendetta, some kind of passion that set them against Bryant’s very existence. 

Not exactly a pleasant realization to come to. Angus had hoped the journey by train would be enjoyable, before he was sucked back into Neverwinter’s politics. But it seemed there would be a number of hurdles to overcome before they pulled into the grant Frost Station. 

“I’ll need to speak to all the other passengers,” Angus said. “You’re sure nobody left or entered the car last night?”

“I’m sure. They would have had to alert the conductor, and thus myself - I was speaking to Michel, the conductor for the other car.” 

Angus nodded, trying not to breathe in too deeply. He was glad the window was open. He tried to look at the stab wounds more clinically. Some of them looked like they’d been made by a right-handed person, but some looked left-handed. It didn’t make any sense. “Are all the passengers in the restaurant car?”

“I can go check. Will you be alright?”

“I’ve seen worse before, Hudson. I’m fine.”

Reluctantly, Hudson left the cabin. Angus was left alone with a dead body, and more questions than ready answers. He could see that there  _ were  _ answers to everything, but none seemed to be close within reach. 

Well. There was only one way to get them closer.

Angus entered the restaurant car, and was immediately the subject of attention.

“What’s all this about?” Demanded the chef, wrapped in a banyan robe decorated with rhinestones and wearing a wizard’s hat with actual, heavy gold charms dangling from its edge. The contrast was startling enough that he held Angus’ attention. “They won’t even serve us breakfast!” 

“I was asleep,” the dwarf grumbled, rubbing his eyes with a wooden prosthetic arm made of what looked like living wood. “I didn’t get a wink in last night. Somebody was in my room.”

“Nobody was in your room,” the wizard snapped at him.

“How do  _ you  _ know? You’re like five cabins away from me!”

“Somebody was in your room?” Angus interrupted, before the wizard and/or chef could respond. “Did you see someone?”

“No, they got out before I could get my sleep mask off. My darkvision is still fine, so I need one to get to sleep.” The dwarf shrugged. “But I definitely heard someone! I tried to talk to the conductor but they said I’d just been hearing things.”

Sloane, standing near the wall, flushed. “We’re in the Felicity Wilds,” she said defensively. “Anything could be making a funny noise. I-”

Hudson cleared his throat, and Sloane snapped her mouth shut. 

“What  _ is  _ this about?” Asked Lup. Angus had already guessed, given the resemblance between her and the chef, that he was the twin brother she’d mentioned in passing. They were seated next to each other, her on the arm of his chair. Her banyan was deep red instead of purple and trailed on the floor, embroidered with a chaotic mess of colorful stars. 

“I’d like to know that, too,” said the gnome Angus had noticed the other day. He was wrapped in a thick bathrobe, looking grumpy, and Barry (seated behind him) looked sympathetic. “Normally we’re not ordered around like this. What’s going on?”

Angus crossed his arms behind his back. “Mr. Bryant has been murdered,” he said. Several of the assembled group went white; the Director put her hand to her mouth. Angus noticed that not  _ every  _ passenger was there. The governor, at least, and his companion were not. Interesting. “As far as anyone knows right now, somebody in this train car is responsible for it. It may have been one of the passengers; it may not have been.”

“I’m sorry, you think one of  _ us  _ killed a stranger in the middle of the night and you’ve stopped the train for it?” Hurley said incredulously.

“I’ve learned not to dismiss suspects purely out of feeling,” Angus said. “After all, most of you and I are strangers as well.”

“You’ve learned,” the chef scoffed. “Who are you supposed to be?”

“Angus McDonald,” said the Director, though she was not answering the question but rather addressing Angus. Angus looked to her, and saw the others shift or turn to their neighbors in surprise and recognition. “Are you taking on this case, on your way to another mystery?”

“Someone’s got to,” Angus said simply. Whatever his personal feelings about Bryant, a man was dead and a murderer was at large. “We’re stalled in the Felicity Wilds. This train isn’t going anywhere. I intend to know the answer of who killed Bryant before we start moving again.”

Inscrutable behind her large, round sunglasses, the Director nodded at him. “Very well,” she said. “How are you going to begin?”

Ignoring the mutters suffusing the small crowd, Angus turned to face them as a whole. “I know some of you may not like answering to a kid, but I’m going to ask that you at least pretend to respect me for the duration of this investigation,” he said. Several people glanced towards the Director. “I’d like to interview you each privately, but first I’d like to know where the Governor and his friend are.”

“The Governor and Governess declined to come,” Graham said ruefully, slumped in a chair in the very back of the car. “They said if something had gone wrong, they weren’t going to come out of their cabins until it had been fixed. If you want to talk to them, you’ll have to go to them.”

That was just like stuffy nobility, Angus thought in frustration. Oh, well. He could get through all the others first. He took out his notebook and looked again at the note he’d made earlier.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll stay here, and you can all go back to your rooms and get ready. I need a moment to think. Hudson, we should move the body out of that room. I’ve gotten all I can from it.”

Hudson looked relieved, amid the bustle of movement that was everybody getting up to go back to their cabins. The twins bent their heads together and left gossipping; the Director gave a final glance to Angus before sweeping back into the other carriage. Sloane delayed a moment to receive some kind of instruction from Hudson. Angus, on the other hand, was approached by the dwarf.

“I don’t need to get ready, even if you do,” he said. “Somebody was in my room last night, and I’m right next to Bryant. You can interview me first.”

* * *

THE MISSIONARY

* * *

“Missionary?” Angus questioned. He’d only asked the man’s name and occupation.

“That’s right,” said Merle Highchurch. “I came south to tell people the good word of Pan. If you want-” He began to draw a pamphlet out of his pocket.

“Not in the middle of a murder investigation, that’s kind of inappropriate.” Angus turned his notebook towards Merle, making sure to show him two blank pages. “Could you write down what you just told me? Name, and profession?”

“Sure.” Merle took the pencil with his flesh hand - the left one - and scribbled down a few words. “No promises on my handwriting being any good, though. I used to be right-handed before...” He waved his wooden hand, which only had four fingers. 

“No apologies needed, sir.” Angus took his notebook back. “Why are you heading north again, if you were here on a religious mission?”

“People weren’t that interested in Pan! I’m not the type to make people do things they don’t wanna do.” Merle shrugged. “They got their own gods down here. There. Wish I’d known that before I came. It would’ve saved me a lotta trouble! But it was nice to have a little vacation, kinda. And they seem like nice gods, even though I definitely like Pan  _ much  _ better. Way better. He gave me this arm, you know.”

“Okay, sir.” Angus wrote that down and drew a little skeptical face next to it. No wonder the dwarf had become a missionary. “What did you do last night?”

“Starting when?”

“After dinner, we’ll say.”

“Well, during dinner they sat me with Lucretia, so-”

Angus frowned at him. “Lucretia?”

“Yeah, I call her by her first name. We shared a bottle of wine,and then afterwards we were both about ready to have a lie-down, so we both went back to our rooms. I took a nap, and then about...I think eightish, eight-thirty, Lup came in and we got to talking.”

“You know Lup as well?”

“No, not really, but we were sitting together at breakfast and she asked what I knew about the gods in general. Apparently she grew up kinda religious, so she wanted someone who knew more than the basics to talk about things with.” Merle made a face. “She’s not a Pan-ite, though, she grew up Oghman. Can’t say I’m a fan, but at least she’s not one anymore.”

“Okay.” Angus’ writing was being rendered near-illegible by the speed he had to go at in order to keep up with Merle’s speech.

“Did you write down I know Lucretia? I don’t know her, either, not before the other day.”

“Nobody calls the Director by her first name, sir.” Angus frowned at him again. Not even Angus got to call her by her name, though he’d discovered by various surreptitious means what it was last time he was in Neverwinter. If she didn’t want him to find out, she shouldn’t have made it such a big secret.

“Well, I do. I call everyone by their first name,  _ Angus.” _

Angus narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t sure he liked Merle Highchurch. “And what happened after you finished talking to Lup?”

“We finished talking around...I dunno, near midnight. She had some opinions about Istus I had to correct her on.” Merle shrugged. “Then I went to bed.”

“And someone entered your cabin?”

“Yeah! I heard it clear as day. I woke up in the middle of the night and I could just tell someone was in my room.” Merle waved his hands as if to demonstrate. “I had to shuffle around to get my mask off and when I did, nobody was in there anymore!”

“How is your darkvision?” Angus had noticed the dwarf’s rather large glasses.

“About as good as my regular vision, which means it still sees just fine, if a little blurry.” 

“What made you think somebody was there?”

“I could hear ‘em. Breathing, at least, and then a noise like them leaving fast when they realized I was awake. Then I went to get the conductor, but she said I was only hearing things.”

Angus made a mental note to speak to the conductor next. “Is there  _ anything  _ else you remember that might be relevant to the case?”

Merle thought for a moment. “Not that I can think of,” he said. “That was the only strange thing that happened. Aside from the murder.”

“Did you hear anything from Bryant’s room that night?”

“Like what, screaming for help? No. I’d have gone inside if I did. The connecting door goes from my cabin to his. I locked it first thing, though. No reason to make it easier for a stranger to come rifle through my stuff!”

“Your side had the lock, then.”

“Don’t they have locks on both sides?”

“I don’t think so, no.” Angus should check that. His own cabin, no. 1, didn’t have a connecting door at all, so he hadn’t been able to get a look at them.

“Huh.” Merle shrugged. “Weird.”

“I think that will be all, Mr. Highchurch. Could you tell the conductor I’d like to speak to her?”

* * *

THE CONDUCTOR

* * *

Sloane D’Artagnan wrote her name with her right hand, in a style of cursive obviously born from a childhood of writing elvish letters. 

“I’ll start with the obvious,” Angus said. “Did any passengers enter or exit Mr. Highchurch’s cabin last night?”

“I saw the elvish lady go in with him, and leave around midnight,” Sloane said promptly. “He rang his bell at about one AM and said someone had been in his room. I hadn’t seen anybody leave or go in since the lady.”

“Could you specify what you mean by the elvish lady?”

Sloane gave him a flat look. “The twin,” she said. “The only other elvish woman in this carriage.” 

“Technically she’s in the other carriage right now, but I’ll take your point.” That matched what Merle had given for his alibi, so far. “What were you doing last night?”

“I was at my post, waiting in case anybody needed assistance during the night. Mr. Highchurch rang his bell once, and you did as well.”

“Anything else?”

Sloane hesitated. “I heard a disturbance within Bryant’s cabin,” she said slowly, “but he answered when I asked if he needed help, and he said he had only tripped. Probably he just woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t see in the dark. He  _ was  _ human.”

Angus knew the answer already, but he asked, “What precisely did Bryant say?”

“He said it was nothing, that he’d tripped.”

“In those exact words?”

Sloane paused. “Well, no. He spoke in Elvish.”

Angus nodded, and made a note. That matched with what  _ he  _ remembered, which was odd, because Bryant didn't speak Elvish by Hurley's own admission the day before. “When did the noise come from Bryant’s cabin?”

“It was before you called for me, and...just before Mr. Highchurch rang his bell.”

So it was entirely possible that Angus had missed hearing Merle’s bell ring, despite his proximity to the dwarf’s cabin, because he’d been asleep. Then the thump, the cry, the conductor coming to investigate, the reply in Elvish, and then a purported murderer slipping out into Merle’s room. And then where, if Sloane had not seen him leave?

“Are you absolutely sure you saw no one in the hallway?”

“There was one, but it was later, at...it must have been close to three AM, but I didn’t look at the clock until a little while later. I saw a woman in a red kimono run down the hallway.”

“Did you see which room she came from, or went to? Her race?”

“No, she went into the bathroom, I think. I didn’t make out many details. Other than that, there were no passengers.”

It was Angus’ turn to pause. “No passengers?”

“Another conductor came down the hallway, but that was earlier in the day. I remember it because he bumped into one of the passengers - it was very unprofessional. We’re supposed to always give passengers the right of way.”

Angus nodded, scribbling down a note. “Which passenger?”

“A half-elf man. I don’t know his name, but I think he’s a bard. Just the...” Sloane gestured, indicating her clothes.

“I’m sure I’ll recognize him when I see him.” Angus didn’t think he’d seen a bard anywhere, but he wouldn’t have remarked on the presence of one, or a half-elf. 

“Is that all?” Sloane asked. 

“Who was the conductor you saw?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see his face. He walked down the hallway away from me.”

“If you had seen his face, would you have been able to recognize him? How do you know it was a he?”

“I - I assume it - _he_ was a ‘he’. I don’t know why. I suppose the height and the size...but if I had seen their face,” Sloane continued, “I probably would have recognized them, yes.”

Angus would try and get a description from the half-elf, then, and see if it would be good enough for Sloane to put a name to it. “Did you leave your post at any point during the night?”

“Twice, to go to the bathroom. I wasn't gone for very long. Once at about midnight, before the elvish lady left Mr. Highchurch’s cabin, and once at about five AM.”

Angus couldn’t see anything suspicious in Sloane’s story. Yet. He _was_ beginning to feel bad for keeping her up. She’d probably been ready to sleep through the day after being on the night shift. “That’s all, then. Go take a nap. I don’t believe I’ll need you again anytime soon.”

Hudson came in as Sloane was leaving. “We’ve arranged things with the body,” he said, “but I’m afraid your vow earlier may end up coming true. There’s damage on the tracks ahead, and we’ll need to wait til a crew can ride up from Candlekeep with the proper tools to repair it. It may take days.”

That was disheartening. Angus sighed, looking back over the notes he’d written. It didn’t make him feel better. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“I was also thinking...is it possible somebody could have boarded the train secretly, at one of the stops we made yesterday? Someone who wouldn’t be on the official passenger list?”

“It’s possible, but I don’t think it’s likely, Hudson. They would have left visible tracks when they escaped from the train, and if this hypothetical murderer snuck  _ on,  _ I think they would have snuck back off as soon as possible. If you were right, they’re likely already gone.”

Hudson nodded. “In that case, I’m going to take Graham and a few conductors, and scour the area around the train,” he said. “I’m not needed while we’re stalled. Will you be alright, continuing the interviews alone?”

Angus didn’t point out that he’d already been doing them alone. “If I need you, I can scream ‘help’ very loudly,” he assured Hudson sarcastically. Hudson seemed only half able to find the humor in it. “Send in the next person for me, will you?”

“Of course. Who?”

* * *

THE VALET

* * *

“I knew this was coming,” Hurley said.

“You knew about the threatening letters?” Angus guessed. 

“I handle - handled - Bryant’s mail for him. Avi doesn’t know, but Bryant had to confide in me because I saw them first.”

“Did you ever see their contents?”

“No. He never let me, and he always burned them afterwards.”

Angus nodded, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook. “Could you sign your name here, for me, and your profession?”

Hurley obliged, scrawling  _ Kira Hurley  _ in quick print. She was left-handed, Angus noted. “I don’t know what I can tell you. You know I wasn’t anywhere near Bryant that night?”

“Do I?”

Hurley paused, and realized that Angus wasn’t joking. “You know I’m in the no. 4 bunk,” she reminded him. “I couldn’t have walked into Bryant’s room without being seen.”

That much was true, and Sloane hadn’t seen Hurley come down the hall. Angus reminded himself that there was no  _ guarantee  _ that Bryant had died at around one AM, as the watch and the disturbance would seem to indicate. “What did you do last night, then?”

“Well, after dinner I was in my room. I got kind of cold because the window was open - my bunkmate, Barry, was doing something that stank so he opened it. I left, and ended up talking to you in the restaurant car, then went back to check on my room because I realized I’d left some things out that I shouldn’t have.”

“What things?” Angus interrupted.

“Bryant’s ledgers, things like that. Work stuff. So I came back and saw that Barry had cleaned up, and it didn’t smell so bad, so I toughed out the cold a bit before closing the window. That gave me enough peace to read the book I brought with me, and that lasted til about...I’m not sure of the exact time, but it was late and Barry had already gone to bed.”

“And what else did you do?”

Hurley laughed. “I sat in bed thinking about the ending of the book for about half an hour before I managed to calm down enough to sleep.”

“Did you hear any noises?”

“I thought I heard someone ring for the conductor, but I could’ve imagined it.”

Angus nodded. He let the silence sit for a moment, as he checked over what he’d noted down already. “Did you know who Bryant was?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You said he burned all his letters immediately. Why would be wait to destroy one until he was already on the train?”

“I’m - no, he always got rid of them right away. If he burned one on the train, it must have been delivered to him here.” 

Angus’ gaze sharpened. “You didn’t know about that one?”

“No. What do you mean, did I know who he was? Of course I did, I worked for him. You know that I know his name.”

“I meant to ask if you were aware that J. Bryant was not his true identity.”

Hurley stared at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Angus went back to an old page in his notebook. “Bryant evidently received one note - one of the threatening ones he mentioned to me - while he was here, on the Rockport Limited.”

“He mentioned them to you?”

“I’m a very good detective. He thought his life was in danger. He didn’t indicate that he thought it was in  _ imminent  _ d anger, or that someone had followed him onto the train to keep threatening him.” That, Angus could have done something about. Probably. “Either he kept this note secret for some reason, or it was given to him sometime last night in between my conversation with him, and his death.”

Hurley swallowed. “How do you know there was a note at all?”

“Not all of it was burned.” Angus read aloud the scrap of words he’d been able to read. A simple spark had burned the rest, but the words - scrawled in a magical, everlasting ink as he’d suspected from the glittery residue in the ashes - had glowed with one final burst of strength before combusting. “‘...ember' - I suspect that is ‘remember’ - 'everything’...and then ‘nior Burnsides’, then ‘no o’.”

Hurley looked blank. “What does that mean?”

“Does the name Burnsides doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“No. Should it?”

Angus closed his notebook and put his hands in his lap. “I think the murder of J. Bryant has something to do with a very old case. Nearly twenty years old, actually. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it.”

Hurley shrugged. “I started work with Bryant ten years ago,” she said. “Before that I wasn’t exactly well-traveled.”

“Where are you from?”

“Goldcliff.”

Angus nodded. “So you wouldn’t have heard of the Burnsides of Raven’s Roost.”

“What, as in the governor who’s on the train?”

“Exactly.”

Hurley looked suddenly skeptical. “This can’t be one of your cases, is it?”

“No. I wasn’t born yet.”

“Then why is it relevant?”

“Because I think that J. Bryant was not J. Bryant at all, but the deposed Governor Kalen of Raven’s Roost and murderer of Junior Burnsides.”

Hurley’s mouth opened, then closed. She looked like she was going a bit white. “Could you tell me,” she asked slowly, “exactly what’s going on here?”

Angus remembered the story, though he wished he didn’t. It was the vague details of the Burnsides case which had occurred to him the other day, when the Director had said the name ‘Raven’s Roost’.

“More than twenty years ago, a man named Magnus Burnsides and his wife led a revolution in the town of Raven’s Roost and deposed the then-governor, a human man named Kalen,” Angus explained. “They replaced him as governor with an elected council which they participated in, and apparently were very well-liked. But years later, their adopted son’s child was kidnapped. It was a very big case. People came in from all over - friends, allies - to try and find Junior Burnsides. 

"Eventually it came out that Kalen was responsible for the kidnapping, somehow. The detectives were failing to find any decent leads, no magic would work. The Burnsides got scared enough that they paid the demanded ransom. Unfortunately...well, they found Junior, but by then it was too late. I think police established that they had been killed well before the ransom was paid. Kalen couldn’t be found, so there was a very public trial where everyone tried to find somebody to blame. The Burnsides’ maid killed herself when the public started to blame her and hound her over it. 

"I don’t think the Burnsides ever recovered from the incident. They’re not the governors of Raven’s Roost anymore, at least, and if they’re still around they’re nowhere near the public eye anymore.”

Hurley digested the explanation silently. Then she got up, and walked towards the door.

“Wait - where are you going?” Angus got up, half prepared to chase her down.

“I’m going to go scream into my pillow,” Hurley said, “and reevaluate the last ten years of my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah. I did a big hit on Junior. I'm not proud of this but like...I'm borrowing the plot of Murder on the Orient Express! Someone was going to die!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comment subscribe etc etc - there will be more coming soon, and comments are fuel on the fire of writerly imagination! :D


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